The house was snuggled
amid oaks and maples;
breezes blew calmly
through windows open.
The floor of wood
solid as the maples
wore through the years
but always swept cleanly.
The roof was of tin
ringing with falling rain,
reflecting the sun
with its drilling pain.
The windows were spotless
for hearts looking outward:
at blue birds and robins,
the moon and the stars.
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